


I'll Be Your Fighter and You'll Be My Mirror

by shrink



Category: Death Note
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-03
Updated: 2016-07-09
Packaged: 2018-07-11 21:51:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7071871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shrink/pseuds/shrink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU Mello secretly survives and two years after the Kira case becomes a private investigator for hire. When he’s hired to kill top intelligence official, Near -- he finds himself confronting old feelings while trying to figure out how to save his old rival’s life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story follows the canon of the anime series (I haven’t read anything beyond) -- with the slight divergence in that Mello secretly survives.

_Tossed in the viper pit, all those feelings and fears,_  
_And all that difficult shit in all those tender years._  
-Down the Deep River, Okkervil River

 

**Two years since the Kira case was closed**

 

**x.**

Mello stood back to inspect his work. The surveillance camera was imperceptible from its place beneath the cabinet. He’d already installed the rest throughout the apartment. Typically, this level of surveillance wouldn’t be necessary -- but his client had stressed that his target was a high level official in the US intelligence community. There were any number of ways they might already be evading wiretapping and other relatively less intrusive methods. Beyond his target’s line of work-- details about them had been nonexistent -- and he knew better than to ask. He’d had clients disappear when he’d pressed for information in the past. And the amount of money on the line for this particular case was too high an amount to compromise for any reason.

His services didn’t come cheap -- and only those with the right connections would even know how to contact him. Meaning, _whoever_ he was here to surveil was worth the price. He glanced through the glass balcony doors across from him. The apartment was situated in a wealthy part of Washington, DC reserved for lobbyists, diplomats, and officials from any number of government agencies. The city’s lights were blinking on one by one -- and he knew his window of time was coming to a close. He zipped his black messenger bag closed and pulled it over his shoulder

Since faking his death during the Kira case he’d gone underground. He’d let the dust settle after the case had been closed before reemerging as a private investigator to the elite. He disguised himself under a number of pseudonyms and worked out of a series of safe houses he’d set up in various countries. Most of his clients were officials within governments who called upon him to monitor criminal organizations. Occasionally, he’d be hired to spy on those same government agencies on behalf of criminal organizations -- it was a job to him, not an ethical crusade. And if there’s anything he’d learned in the two years he’d been doing this, it’s that governments were no less corrupt than anyone else. Wealthy men -- whatever organization they worked for -- were only ever going to look out for their own interests. Cops could kill citizens just as easily as street thugs. Look at what had happened to Matt…

He shook his head -- he couldn’t think about that right now. He needed to maintain his trademark attention to detail. An errant wire could blow the entire operation. He scanned the apartment one final time. The bookshelves were lined with a combination of top psychology and criminology journals. A Rubik’s cube was being used as a paperweight to hold down case files on the coffee table. Plastic containers of ramen lined the cupboards and carefully stacked dirty coffee mugs were waiting to be washed by the sink. No doubt there was some sort of housekeeper that would be expected to take care of such things. Still, it represented a kind of immaturity to Mello -- which stood in contrast to the otherwise pristine apartment.

But there wasn’t time to stand around and hypothesize about his target -- and soon he wouldn’t need to. Between the surveillance programs he’d installed on his target’s computer and the cameras throughout the apartment -- there wouldn’t be much he didn’t know about the person who lived here. He pulled the hood of his coat down over his face as he left, securing all the locks in place on the front door as they had been when he’d broken in.

When he got back to his hotel room he opened the Chinese takeout he’d picked up on the way before flipping open his laptop. He accessed the camera feeds he’d set up, watching as all the rooms of the apartment appeared on his screen in separate video feeds. He wondered what he would uncover -- was his target suspected of espionage? He shoved a spoonful of rice between his lips, really this was better than watching a movie. A slow burn -- knowing that whoever he was about to see walk through the front door would inevitably end up imprisoned at best -- but more realistically, he’d read about their “suicide” or “skiing accident” a week or month from now. But he couldn’t feel too bad -- he was the messenger after all, simply relaying information. What his client did with it didn’t rest on _his_ conscience.

The front door was opening -- and when the person appeared on the screen he sucked in a breath. He started choking on his last spoonful of rice, his hand pressed tightly over his mouth as his eyes stayed stuck to the screen. He reached for a plastic bottle of cherry coke and leaned in closer to his laptop.

The same wavy white hair which fell over dark unreadable eyes. The slight slouch and pinched shoulders. The air of restless disinterest that he’d always found infuriating. Mello took a breath -- convinced that Near would immediately sense him. That maybe the whole thing had been a set-up from the start. He glanced over his shoulder and then at the chain lock over the wooden hotel door. No, he quietly reminded himself, no one knew he was alive -- not anyone in the US government -- and certainly not Near. He’d been so careful. And if Near had somehow uncovered the fact that he was alive, there’d be no logical reason to construct such an elaborate rouse. Mello felt his shoulders unclench, he took another swig of soda and focused on the screen.

What exactly was it that his old rival was suspected of -- did it have any merit -- and if it did -- what would he do about it? Near tossed his coat over the back of the chair by the door before taking a sip of the to-go coffee cup he’d walked in with. He was still small -- but he’d abandoned the oversized shirts for a collared button-down, tie, and straight-legged dress pants that was no doubt more suited for the business world. But even from the grainy quality of the camera, Mello could see bags under his eyes that would have rivaled L’s. Near probably saw sleep deprivation as some sort of misguided homage to his mentor. The idea stirred some of the old feelings of contempt he still held towards L -- the unrealistic expectations, contrived rivalries, and the fate he’d made inevitable by allowing himself to be killed by Kira.

Near headed straight for the desk by the balcony, and Mello’s eyes shifted to the video feed at the bottom of the screen. Near flipped open his laptop, a small frown playing at his lips as he wrapped a finger around a strand of hair. A small window popped up on Mello’s laptop which showed him Near’s screen. But there were no immediate red flags to indicate why he would be under suspicion. He was simply looking through case files, presumably for work, stopping occasionally to make small notes in the margin of a notebook. It would have been altogether boring if Mello hadn’t always been curious on learning how Near worked through cases.

By the time Mello had finished his takeout and started on a chocolate bar nothing of note had happened. It appeared that Near was simply working, and while it was excessive, there wasn’t anything suspicious about his behavior. A little after midnight, Near let out a small sigh and stood up to stretch. He opened the door to his balcony and walked out into the frozen December air. Mello didn’t have a close up on his face -- but from the camera that was tracking his movements, he just appeared to be staring over the edge, looking down at the cars passing below. His hair was whipping against his cheeks in the night air, his breaths were almost imperceptible white clouds. What could he be thinking about that was making him grip the railing so hard?

When he finally came back in and closed the doors the stoic and calculating expression from earlier had retreated. Now there was a heaviness to his movements, like the wind had been whispering threats in his ear. Mello let out a breath -- he had never tried to understand Near when he had the chance. He’d thought of him as cocky if not robotic -- mimicking L like he was some sort of teen idol. Mello had only found out too late that there was more to his younger classmate than what he’d come to believe.

Near closed the balcony door and grabbed one of the academic journals from his bookshelf before sitting on the sofa. He didn’t make it more than fifteen minutes before his head lolled to the side and he repositioned himself so he was lying down, his head resting against some case files on atop of one of the cushions.

It was after 2AM and in spite of the excitement of the unanticipated sight of Near -- Mello was feeling tired himself. He activated the motion sensor feature on his computer -- before closing his own eyes. Something about the rise and fall of Near’s shoulders, the way he rested his chin against his hand, the tufts of soft hair falling over his eyes flooded Mello’s mind with a heavy nostalgia. But his days at Wammy’s House felt like they must have happened to someone else or in another lifetime at least. He wondered if Near felt the same way, he wondered if he ever thought about Wammy’s House still, and if he did, if he ever thought about him.

* * *

_It was two months before L’s death and Mello couldn’t sleep. He’d barely slept through a single night the first year that he’d been taken to Wammy’s House and even after all these years, sleep could still be elusive. Matt was sleeping in his bed on his side of their dorm -- the video game he’d been up all night trying to beat was still in his hand. Mello shifted, kicking the covers down to the bottom of the bed with more force than necessary._

_There was something about staring at the ceiling that made insomnia worse.If he got up and walked around it put him back in control of the situation -- or at least it made it feel that way. After pulling a pair of jeans over his boxers and lacing up his boots he pushed open the door to their dorm and headed down the hallway._

_Most nights he could still see the lamps from kids studying from under their doors -- but everyone had just taken their finals and students were finally catching up on sleep. So when he saw the light on in the library, it’d immediately caught his attention. Even from the doorway he knew it was Near. The hunched posture and mop of white hair staring at the laptop screen was unmistakable. Putting up with his rival’s haughtiness was preferable -- almost a welcome distraction to wandering the hallways alone._

_He pushed his hair behind his ear and strode into the library -- in a way that he hoped convey that he wanted to be as disruptive as possible. The library was dark except for the small lamp that was attached to the table that Near was sitting at and the glow of his laptop. The walls of books were black shadows and the wooden tables reminded Mello of small wooden lifeboats, motionless in a dark ocean._

_He perched on the end of the table closest to Nears. “I thought even **you** would relax -- now that you’ve validated your self-worth with your exam scores.”_

_If Near was startled or annoyed by his presence he didn’t show it. “I’m not studying,” the younger boy said without looking up._

_Mello looked at the printed articles scattered across the long table -- faces of Japanese criminals stared back up at him from newspaper clippings._

_“L has been sharing information about the Kira case with **you**?” Mello immediately felt jealousy rising inside of him. How was he supposed to prove himself if L had already chosen Near as his apprentice on the Kira case? _

_Near was twirling a piece of hair against his cheek with a sort of purposeful detachment. “Not exactly.”_

_Mello pushed himself further onto the table and dangled his feet over the floor. He hated that he was intrigued, that he needed to know exactly what L had or had not entrusted Near with._

_“So this is your own **little** independent Kira investigation?” It was a guess -- a tactic to make Near talk. _

_“Something like that.” Near brought a finger to his lip as he highlighted a sentence in one of the articles._

_“So you admit it -- you think L needs **your** help.”_

_Near sighed and looked up at him, as if resigning himself to the fact that Mello was going to require some explanation before he’d leave. “The Kira case isn’t solved,” he stated. “Certainly it’s reasonable to conclude that assistance is required.”_

_“How can you say that -- how can you lose faith in L. Because of one case?” The loyalty Mello felt to L was boiling through him like some sort of patriotic vitriol. Later when he’d think about it again, it’d surprise him -- but now in this moment it just made his anger towards Near surge._

_Near sighed and glanced down at his hands. “Seeing as you’re second in line to succeed L --”_

_“According to you maybe--” Mello interjected._

_Near raised an eyebrow and continued. “You should know, yesterday I overheard a conversation between Watari and Roger. They were arranging funds for the school in case something should happen. If Watari has lost faith in L’s ability, why shouldn’t I?”_

_“Because he’s L!” Mello yelled, jumping down off the table._

_Near looked up --  not at Mello but down the hallway. “Keep your voice down, students aren’t supposed to be out of their beds at this hour.”_

_There was no way that Near actually thought Mello wasn’t aware of that rule. Condescending comments like that were just one of the reasons that he couldn’t stand the other boy’s presence. But he couldn’t rule out that Near wasn’t just trying to make him storm off in frustration now. Instead, he brushed his long hair off his shoulder and took a seat across from his rival. The younger boy looked tired, like he’d been up for days. And there was something about the uncharacteristically messy way the case files were laid out that conveyed a sense of panic. It was so unlike Near to be anything less than composed -- for a moment Mello wondered if he was being too hard on him. After all, if Watari was discussing what Near said he had -- then there was a real chance that the investigation **had** been compromised. _

_Thinking of L’s possible death in that moment felt like a knife in Mello’s stomach. L had been a distant father, big brother, and mentor all-in-one to him. On his birthday he’d always send some expensive pastry from whatever corner of the world his latest investigation had taken him. And when L visited the school, he’d make time to sit down with Mello and run recent cases by him – shooting him encouraging looks as he put the pieces together._

_“Look, I’m worried about him too,” Mello said. It wasn’t the first time he’d thought it -- but it was the first time he’d said it out loud. Under normal circumstances he wouldn’t dare make a concession like that to anyone -- let alone Near. But nothing about the Kira investigation had been normal._

_“It’s not L I’m concerned with -- it’s about allowing a serial killer to go free,” Near said._

_“You’re **truly** disgusting.” Mello narrowed his eyes -- the flippancy of the comment made him sick.  “How can you say that about the person who has looked after us all these years?” _

_Near leaned closer to the screen like he could ignore Mello into nonexistence._

_“Answer me dammit!” Mello reached across the table and slammed the laptop closed, pressing his palm down to keep it shut._

_“ **Remove** your hand from my possessions.” Near tried to slide the computer from Mello’s grip. _

_“Fine,” Mello said with a smirk, letting go of the computer before reaching down to pluck out the flash drive that was sticking out of it. “Is this the information you need, junior detective? To defeat Kira? To preserve justice?”_

_“How childish are you? Give it back,” Near said, watching as Mello clutched the flash drive in his fist. But Mello didn’t care if it **was** childish -- there was something satisfying about having Near’s attention all to himself. _

_“Admit that you care about L.”_

_Near sighed and Mello could see him resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “L is a great detective -- if he lives, he’ll go on to solve countless cases.”_

_“Not what I asked,” Mello said with a patronizing shake of his head._

_Near crossed his arms and glared up at Mello. “If you want a fight, you’re out of luck.”_

_“Yeah? What about a chase?” he said with a smirk -- and before Near had a chance to respond, the blonde had turned and bolted out of the library. He didn’t look back but he could hear Near’s footsteps smacking down the hallways after him as he passed empty classrooms. He kept going – straight out the back entrance of the building and onto the lawn._

_Near was behind him -- reaching his arms out to grab any part of him he could as they ran across the grounds of the school. It was dark and the grass felt wet under Mello’s feet from the rain earlier that day. But he knew he couldn’t slip – he had to get down to the lake if he wanted to prove his point. The younger boy had to know with a growing dread exactly where Mello was going. When Mello reached the end of the wooden dock he finally stopped -- panting as he held the flash drive over the water of the lake. In the day the lake was alive with students, it was used by the school’s rowing team and was a nice retreat on hot summer days. But now, in the dark -- it looked bottomless -- the water inky black, reflecting the white light of the moon in slow ripples._

_“Please Mello -- don’t,” Near said through a staggered breath as he stepped onto the wooden dock. Now that he was looking at Mello his eyes looked huge and as bottomless as the water surrounding them._

_“Just say it! Just say that you care about L -- that you’re doing this little investigation to save him!” Mello extended his arm higher into the air. Near opened his mouth and looked unsure for a moment -- his eyes cast down to the plank he was standing on. The moonlight was reflecting off the cold metal flashdrive -- and for a moment Mello felt triumphant -- he felt like he’d beat Near in something more meaningful than a grade on a quiz._

_But the next moment Near lunged at him, grasping Mello’s arm in his fist and using his weight to bring it down. Mello shoved but the other boy wouldn’t let go. His fingers were grabbing onto whatever he could -- Mello’s sleeve -- his hair -- his fingers. Mello shoved him again and even when Near stumbled backwards, he didn’t let go of the older boy. When he fell backwards he pulled Mello down on top of him as he slammed onto the wooden dock. Near groaned under Mello’s weight, but was undeterred from continuing to pry at his fingers._

_“Let go of me!” Mello yelled -- trying to get off of the other boy and stand back up. But when Near wouldn’t let go, Mello threw his free hand back and punched him in the nose. Near sucked in a breath before cupping a hand over his face. He rolled onto his side -- his feet hanging askew over the side of the dock._

_Mello stood up. “You’re pathetic!” he yelled, “what good does it do to solve any case if you don’t care about people? If you can’t feel anything other than the hollow victory of figuring something out? This isn’t a math equation Near – these are real lives! This is L’s life!” And the next second – Mello did something he’d deeply regret in years to come: he swung his arm back and tossed the flash drive into the lake._

_Near stood up -- his mouth dropping open like it was the entire world falling into the black water. And only a split second after it splashed, he had jumped in after it._

_“Near!” Mello yelled, standing on the dock. The water wasn’t very deep -- but it was dark, and Near was barely coming up for breaths as he tried to trace the path that the flash drive must have taken._

_“Are you crazy?” Mello yelled -- barely able to tell when the younger boy was coming up for air. His white shirt looked more like a sheet in the dark -- a drowned ghost -- and the sight of it was more than unnerving. “You’re never going to find it!” Mello said -- more out of concern than mockery. He said it even as it was obvious that Near couldn’t possibly hear him, as he dunked his head up momentarily before diving back down. When he finally surfaced for more than a second, he treaded water to catch his breath._

_“Did you find it?” Mello asked meekly -- feeling a strange guilt creep into his chest -- hoping his concern could downplay what he’d just done._

_Near swam to the shore and Mello followed -- his boots sinking into the soft mud. “Did you find it?” he said again, watching as Near’s shoulders violently moved up and down as he struggled to catch his breath._

_“You idiot!” Near turned to him -- holding the flash drive between his fingers. “Do you realize what you could have done? What this could cost us?”_

_Mello took a step back -- the blood was still running from Near’s nose -- but mixed with the water it looked pink and unnatural against his pale skin. His shirt was clinging to him -- accentuating how small he really was._

_“Damnit Mello! What goes on in your mind? What do you think of me? Of course I care about L,” Near said, taking a deep breath -- waving the flash drive through the air.  “Why do you think I’ve been doing all this research? L is the only person who has ever looked at me and thought I was worthwhile. He’s the only person who ever made me feel like there could be a place in the world for me -- that I could have a purpose. So have I studied hard to get good grades to achieve that purpose? Of course. **Sorry** if that makes me seem so terrible to you -- so monstrous that you have to sabotage the work that could save his life.”_

_Near wiped some of the blood that was working its way down his lips onto the back of his soaked sleeve. He was shaking and Mello wanted nothing more than to will all of this to be some sort of messed up dream._

_“I’m -- I’m sorry -- “ he said meekly, gripping Near’s shoulder. It was the first time he’d ever touched the other boy. Something about the connection felt warm -- made him want to keep his hand there. “I know what you mean--”_

_Near snapped his head up and took a step back. “You don’t -- you don’t understand **anything**! You wonder why I’ll always beat you Mello -- it’s because I understand nuance, I understand subtlety. You make your mind up and you see what you want to see. About **me** and about **everything** else!”_

_Mello felt like he’d been punched in the face. Near turned and ran back towards the building, his hand wrapped around the flash drive. Whether he was going to the headmaster's office to report him or back to his dorm to dry off didn’t make a difference now. Mello walked back to the dock, where there were drops of Near’s blood, still wet under the dark sky. He laid down next to them and let Near’s words pierce into him. Because what he said was true -- and Mello knew it. There **was** something missing in him – some blind spot in his heart that chose anger instead of understanding. It was something he’d always suspected about himself but had never known how to articulate. What would L have said if he had watched what had just happened. There was no doubt in his mind now that he wasn’t L’s successor. It wasn’t that he wasn’t smart enough, it was the blind spot – the anger – that would always lead him astray, would always make him lesser than Near.  _

_But Near’s words had a greater impact. In the weeks that followed, Mello would watch Near – trying to figure out what it was that he hadn’t seen about him for all these years. The softness in his eyes as he helped tutor the younger children -- the way he’d push back the baggy white shirts he’d wear from his knuckles when he’d go to write something in class -- the piece of hair that he liked to twist around his fingers when he was thinking. And late at night -- Mello still walked by the library -- knowing that inside Near was working hard to protect the only person he cared about in the world -- the only person who he thought cared about him. Mello felt the weight of all of it. How it wouldn’t occur to him until after the Kira investigation that somewhere in those two weeks he’d fallen in love with Near. But somewhere inside of him he knew then what he knew now -- he would **never** deserve him. _

* * *

Both of them woke up to Near’s cellphone ringing from his coffee table around 6AM. Near leaned his elbows on his knees as he stared at the carpeting of his apartment, the phone pressed to his ear. Mello stuffed an earbud in so he could hear audio of the conversation. Maybe it would finally indicate what any of this was about -- what Near was being surveilled for. But after a few moments it was clear that the person on the other end of the phone was the new headmaster from Wammy’s House okaying some funds for programs. After the conversation Near put on a pot of coffee in the kitchen before heading to the shower.

Mello dialed the number of his client. It was a private line that had been set up only a week ago -- a line only the two of them could access.

“It’s me,” he said through the voice distorter. “I need to discuss the case.”

“Go on.”

“You didn’t tell me that this case involved tracking the top-ranked detective in the world. It’s a matter of time before he realizes that he’s being surveilled if he doesn’t already.”

“I thought you were the best in the business.” Even through the phone Mello could hear the arrogant smirk.

“I’m _simply_ pointing out that you did not provide key facts that could have aided the investigation,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Well rest assured -- this is not a _long-term_ assignment. We want Near taken out by the end of the week.”

Mello paused and pushed his bangs out of his eyes. He was only half-awake, maybe he’d misunderstood. “I’m not a bounty-hunter.”

“Of course not,” his client said softly. “But you must understand that with a target such as Near, we couldn’t entrust the project to a brute hitman whose methods could be detected. You, on the other hand, are a top rated private investigator and come recommended by the best. We will compensate generously for this extra task.”

The way he was talking about Near -- as if his murder was an added chore on Mello’s to-do list made the blonde bite down on his lip. He had to stay calm -- he had to keep up the act if he had any chance at figuring out what the hell was going on.

“What’s the point of surveillance then? If you just want him taken out this is all unnecessary.”

Mello could hear his client take a drag of a cigarette. “We need to be certain that Near doesn’t suspect a threat on his life. If he would leave behind some indication of such -- it could be… damning for the parties involved.”

“I understand,” Mello said.

“So, we have a deal?”

Mello watched as the younger man emerged from his bedroom -- tightening a tie around his neck in the mirror. Mello remembered the way he’d looked that night by the lake all those years ago. His eyes blown open with passion and rage and loneliness. How warm he’d felt under his palm -- just for that split second they’d touched then.

“Yes,” he said with the same measured coldness he reserved for clients. “Of course.”

“Excellent. For now, your instructions are to continue to monitor him -- be certain that he doesn’t suspect anything. And plan to make his death look like a mob hit. But keep the details to yourself -- the less I know the better.”

“Understood,” Mello said because he had to. Because if he _didn’t_ the assignment would be passed on to someone else. Someone who _would_ murder Near. The thought alone made him want to find the person on the other end of the phone and center his Glock between their eyes. It didn’t matter, he told himself, because that wasn’t going to happen.

After the phone call he left his hotel room -- because the importance of tracking Near’s movements was more imperative than ever. He’d have to follow Near’s schedule carefully and develop a fail safe way of faking his rival’s death before the week ended. If he were undermining anyone but Near he wouldn’t be so worried, if it were anyone but Near he wouldn’t be so determined.

 

* * *

Thanks to [Jojo](http://mistaken-for-magick.tumblr.com/) for this awesome portrait of Near!

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the positive feedback -- it's so encouraging to hear that so many of you are enjoying this story so far! I'm so excited for this chapter and what is still to come!

_No way of knowing what any man will do_  
_An ocean of violence between me and you_  
-Ocean of Noise, Arcade Fire

**x.**

Mello licked whipped cream off the end of his coffee stirrer and scowled over the top of his Peppermint Mocha. He was sitting on a frozen metal chair outside a coffee shop, blending in with the steady stream of people on their lunch breaks. Near had been bent over a book on a park bench across the street for the last twenty five minutes. His white hair fell over the side of his face and no one passing by spared him a second look. It was unnerving all the same that he was out in the open alone like this. Someone wanted him killed. And there was no way for Mello to know that he wasn’t the only person that had been hired to do it. There was no way to know that his client hadn’t gotten impatient -- or that they hadn’t done some digging and uncovered their connection. Mello did another scan of the periphery for any signs of danger. He hadn’t felt this on edge since the Kira investigation -- and he had to remind himself that his gun was strapped right beneath his waistband if he needed it.

If Near suspected that he was being surveilled it’s possible that he would put himself in the open like this to draw out suspects. Mello unconsciously tugged his black beanie down further over his ears. The plain black parka and sunglasses he was wearing helped him fade into the crowd better than his more flamboyant winter coats. He’d even made sure to apply concealer over the scar on his cheek -- just in case he’d end up in closer contact with Near than he anticipated. There was something familiar in trying to stay one step ahead of his old rival that felt reassuring in spite of the constant sense of danger and uncertainty.

He’d spent the last couple of days trailing Near’s movements. It was monotonous -- watching him wake up and put on another black suit. But in all of his independence there were idiosyncrasies-- like the fact that he’d never learned to drive, had his groceries delivered, and didn’t socialize. It was how L had lived his life -- having Watori bring him his meals, chauffeur him around, never having to deal with the inconvenience or uncertainty that came with human interaction. He remembered when he was a kid thinking that L had it made. But now, watching Near mimic the same lifestyle, it just seemed so lonely, so incomplete.

In addition to following his old rival – he’d also tapped his cellphone and other devices -- listened in on every phone call, read through every email and online interaction. Normally, on cases like this he would expect to find evidence of either espionage or other illicit dealings. He’d even looked into the possibility that Near may be investigating a case that the government wouldn’t want him to uncover. But no matter how far he reached or how closely he looked at everything Near had been working on -- there was no indication, no clue, no possible reason that Mello could see why anyone would want him dead.

Near’s days were spent solving puzzle after puzzle put before him by the CIA or the NSA – or whoever needed him most. It was obvious to Mello that Near had become nothing more than a tool brought in to examine and solve what countless others could not. He spent tireless hours hunched over a computer dissecting information, his time only interrupted by meetings with members of government agencies, and occasional moments like now where he’d read alone. His colleagues called him “N” – not Near – and _certainly_ not Nate. He’d been boiled down to a simple purpose. Dehumanized to the point that Mello would bet if they could replace him with a computer program, he’d be out on the street. He took another sip of his drink, Near’s penchant for insomnia had left him completely reliant on caffeine and in order to put things in motion for tonight, he was going to need all the help he could get.

He pulled out his phone and dialed the number for his client, not surprised when they answered after the second ring.

“Things are prepared,” Mello said in the same measured tone he always used with clients. “I’m going to move forward tonight. But I have a small favor to ask.”

“Go on,” his client responded. The fact that he wanted to know as few details as possible about this told Mello that he was someone close to Near, a colleague -- someone he interacted with day to day. Someone that could potentially be questioned in the event of his death. He just needed to prove it.

“Arrange to have 10mg of diazepam dissolved into his drink during his 6:00 meeting tonight,” Mello said, letting the information sink in before continuing. “Be sure drinks are served a half hour before the end of the meeting.”

There was a pause as his client seemed to be thinking through the logistics. “Understood,” he said finally.

Mello shut his phone and sighed. Making that request served two purposes; first and most obvious, it would make it easier for him to overtake Near. And secondly, it proved to him that whoever wanted Near dead was someone working in the government alongside him -- someone close enough to him to sprinkle crushed pills into his drink with only hours notice.

The knowledge made it harder for Mello to sit idly by, watching and waiting -- even though there were only a few hours between now and when he’d enact his plan. But anything could happen during that time. Near had just closed his book and was getting ready to head back to the office. Would he pass by the person that Mello had just gotten off the phone with in a hallway? The thought instilled the urge to catch up with the younger man and tell him all that he knew. He could show him call transcripts -- the wire of money that had already arrived in his bank account -- he could try and convince him to leave now and never look back. If he thought that had any chance of working, he already would have done it. But he knew Near so be knew better.

* * *

_The sun was coming up on Wammy’s House as Mello finished stuffing his belongings into a backpack. Just hours ago Roger had told him that L was dead. Mello’s head hadn’t entirely caught up to the pain and anger in his heart, the overwhelming feeling that it wasn’t fair – that the universe had laid down its misguided judgement against L, against **all** of them.  Matt was leaning against the door of their dorm -- his arms hadn’t come uncrossed since Mello had explained what he was doing, where he was going._

_“This can’t **just** be about Near,” the redhead said as he watched Mello fumble with the zipper of his coat._

_Mello scoffed -- of course it was about Near. **Everything** came down to Near -- but he couldn’t admit that to Matt -- he wouldn’t understand. And even if he could, he wouldn’t want him to. _

_“Why should I stay? So I can work with the police? Yeah, that worked out **great** for L.”_

_“You could at least coordinate with the kid before you go,” Matt said as he placed a cigarette between his lips. “Make a plan.”_

_“You should know me better than that.” Mello glanced up at his friend. Matt sighed and looked at the drawers Mello had just emptied into his duffle bag. “Look,” Mello tried again, wanting to alleviate his friend’s reservations. “L was always two steps ahead of everyone, right? So maybe he knew this is what I’d do -- maybe that’s exactly what he wanted.”_

_Just saying it made Mello feel better. He was acting out L’s final plan -- not abandoning it._

_“I know you don’t actually believe that,” Matt mumbled before blowing a cloud of cigarette smoke over his shoulder. Mello didn’t respond. He just flipped through a couple school notebooks on his desk before deciding that he wouldn’t need them where he was going. When he turned back to the door, Matt shot him a heavy look._

_“I’ll be back for you,” Mello said, thinking about how much Matt had become like a brother to him. “I promise.”_

_“You know I’ll be there for you,” Matt said, pulling Mello into a half-hug. “Whatever you need.”_

_He gave Matt one final nod before closing the door to their dorm._

_The truth was he didn’t need this school anymore. The way he saw things -- it’d only been holding him back. Grades, class participation, homework...their connection to real life, to real detective work was paper thin. There was something freeing about walking away. Every empty classroom he passed became a weight off his shoulders._

_“So you’re really leaving,” a voice called out to him. Mello paused and looked behind him down the deserted hallway before realizing that the voice had come from an empty classroom._

_A shadowy figure was sitting alone in the dark, but the voice was unmistakable. Mello flicked the lights on -- causing Near to squint and draw a hand over his eyes. It’d been two weeks since the incident at the lake and they hadn’t spoken since. It’s not that Mello hadn’t wanted to. It’s just that, for Mello, things were different now, feelings were different – and words were harder._

_“What are you doing?” Mello said, sitting his bag on the desk closest to the door._

_“Thinking,” Near replied. A small book was on the desk he was sitting at and Mello immediately recognized it. It was the collection of Sherlock Holmes stories that L had given Near for his thirteenth birthday. He only knew that because L had insisted that Mello come celebrate with them that day. He could still see the knowing look in L’s eyes as he’d handed him a slice of chocolate cake._

_Mello took a step closer, barely missing the half empty wine bottle next to Near’s foot. It’s not like it was uncommon for students to sneak alcohol into their dorms -- he and Matt had their fair share of parties. But there was something that felt strange and wrong when he imagined Near drinking alone._

_“Could it be -- Wammy’s golden boy is drunk?” Mello said, trying not to let any concern bleed into his tone.  Near was wearing the same clothes he’d had on earlier that day in Roger’s office, only now they looked somehow more crumpled._

_A strange smile crept over Near’s lips like he was just realizing where the warm buzzing feeling in his head was coming from. “I suppose I am.”_

_Mello picked up the bottle and took a swig. The bitter taste of Merlot filled his mouth. “You picked a strange night for it.”_

_He set the bottle on Near’s desk.  The younger boy stared at it, his dark eyes fixing on the French writing on the label. “Is it?”_

_Near took another sip and passed it back to Mello. “Some of the students wanted to congratulate me for being L’s successor. I got this and a card, but I have found this the more useful of the two.”_

_It didn’t surprise Mello. Everyone in this school only thought of getting ahead -- if Near was going to be the next L, the other students were no doubt vying to get in his good graces. It could mean an easy in for a job in a couple years. It didn’t matter that less than twenty-four hours ago those same students barely acknowledged Near’s existence. But he was sure that he didn’t need to point that out._

_“They’re all vapid fools.” Mello mumbled._

_“I’m feeling much better actually,” Near said, laying his head against the book on the desk and turning his face towards the rising sun outside the window. “All of this feels better than before.”_

_Mello leaned against the blackboard, watching the sun rise through the smudged classroom window. He wished he could tell Near that the feeling would last. But no matter what he said, they were both watching the sun rise on the first of the rest of their days without L._

_“Do you think that we’ll die Mello?” Near turned his head, so he was looking up at the older boy._

_There was something in his eyes that was impossible to pin down -- an elusiveness that someone else might explain as genius -- but Mello knew better._

_“I don’t plan on it.” He ran his finger through the tray of eraser dust. “Then again, I’m not going to paint a target on myself like L did.”_

_They both knew that Near would be assigned to a police task force like L had been. Maybe he wasn’t just drinking to numb the pain of L’s death -- maybe he was drinking because he knew his own was inevitable. Because tonight was the last night he could let his guard down. Something about all of it left Mello with a sick feeling in his stomach._

_“You could come with me,” Mello said -- his voice slightly too loud. He was suddenly aware of the sound of his own heartbeat. He surprised himself with the offer. But now that he said it, he knew that he **meant** it. _

_Near sat up, pushing his hair out of his eyes with a swipe of his hand. He glanced at the bag by the door with an unreadable expression. Suddenly Mello felt like the room was closing in on him -- the smell of pencil shavings and red wine, the humidity of the morning dew, the book Near leaned against, like a tombstone, like a shoulder, like a goddamn ghost. The air in the room felt heavy enough to pin him to the ground and he had to force himself to take a breath._

_“It’s not…it’s not what L would want. **I** can’t just leave,” Near said before looking back at the embossed gold letters on the book jacket with a sort of resignation. _

_“I **plan** on solving the case,” Mello said angrily, because it almost sounded like Near was suggesting he was just running away. “But I’ll do it on **my** terms.” _

_“But you won’t.” Near tipped the bottle back against his lips. He made a face as he swallowed, before looking back at Mello. “If it can be solved, I’ll be the one to bring Kira to justice. And if not, we’ll both die.” It didn’t sound like a challenge or a dig -- just a grave inevitability._

_“You’re wrong.” Mello said, feeling a familiar surge of anger at the younger boy. Near shot him a half-smile and turned back to the golden light pushing through the classroom window._

_Mello walked towards his bag. There was nothing left to say, only a hundred things to do to prove Near wrong. But when he paused in the doorway and looked back, Near was sliding his thumb down the spine of the book, buried by his fate and beyond caring what Mello said or did or didn’t do._

* * *

Mello was behind the driver’s seat of the Mercedes that had been sent to chauffeur Near home from his meeting. It’d be relatively easy to manipulate the car rental system and assign his alias as the driver. He glanced in the mirror on the visor -- his blonde hair was pressed under a short brown wig -- and a chauffeur's cap was pulled over that. Between the navy uniform, aviator sunglasses, and makeup covering his scar, he was certain that Near wouldn’t give him a second look, in fact he was counting on it.

Near’s meeting was located in an ideal location -- an office building outside of DC surrounded by highways and other long stretches of road. The only hitch in Mello’s plan at this point was the quickly accumulating snow building up on the road. He glanced at the neon numbers of the clock under the radio. They were five minutes behind schedule. But when he looked back up Near was exiting the double-doors of the building.

Mello took a breath -- wishing he didn’t feel a sudden swell of unexpected anxiety as Near headed straight for the black town car. But right now he couldn’t focus on his racing heartbeat or the sweat worming its way down his temple from beneath the wig. It was better to focus on Near’s sluggish movements as he opened the car door and the slurred way he mumbled his address before leaning back against the seat.

Mello wanted to wind down the windows to combat the sudden closed-in feeling of the car -- the heat on his neck from Near’s possible gaze. He took a silent breath. He just had to break free of traffic and get to the isolated back road like he had planned without rousing suspicion. The snow was coming down harder now -- flying at the windshield faster than the wipers were able to clear it away. Mello had to pull his sunglasses off to focus as the storm clouds had prematurely darkened the sky. But it didn’t matter now, Near’s eyes were sliding shut as Mello took the exit off the highway and onto the stretch of back roads.

The plan was simple. First he’d drive them to the Mustang that he’d stashed earlier that day alongside the road and transfer Near into it. Then he’d activate the bomb he’d already placed in the trunk of the car they were in now. It was an easy and effective way to fake Near’s death. Mello spotted the black Mustang and pulled the car over to the side of the road behind it. It was a desolate stretch of road rarely used. And tonight it seemed that most motorists were avoiding it completely due to the snow. He turned off the engine and glanced around to make sure they hadn’t been followed. But to their left was the empty road -- covered in a slick layer of white snow and to their right, grass and a grove of trees. It felt like no one was around for miles.

“Why are we stopping?” Near asked slowly, blinking and trying to prop himself up.

In one quick motion, Mello reached for his gun and pointed it squarely at Near’s forehead. “Put your cellphone and your wallet on the seat next to you!”

Near sat up straight now and sucked in a breath. His pupils were huge from the influence of the drug -- black pushing gray to the edges. “Okay…okay,” he said calmly, fumbling in his coat pocket while glancing to Mello’s face, lingering too long on his eyes.

“ ** _Do it_**!” Mello yelled again, drawing Near’s attention back to the gun. He slowly placed both items on the seat next to him like he’d been told.

“Whoever is paying you -- I can give you more” Near said before taking a deep breath and shaking his head like he was trying to keep the fog at bay.

“Lie down on the seat -- face first with your hands behind your back,” Mello yelled before jumping out of the car and throwing open the back door. But Near hadn’t listened, and instead struggled to rush past him as he opened the door. But the drug had set in, and he fell onto his hands and knees in the snow covered ground at Mello’s feet.

“What…” Near said to himself like he couldn’t understand why his body wasn’t cooperating. Mello grabbed him beneath his arms and pulled him up, easily cuffing his hands behind his back in one fluid motion.

“Let’s go,” Mello said, one arm hooked under Near’s and the other wrapped around his waist as he half-carried him towards the Mustang. Near was watching their feet move together in the snow, glancing from the gun in Mello’s waistband to the car they were heading towards with a detached expression. Like this was happening to someone else -- someone in a movie -- someone he didn’t have to worry about.

After Mello had lowered him into the passenger seat a soft groan escaped Near’s lips. He tilted forward against the cool vinyl surface of the dashboard. Mello placed a hand on his shoulder and guided him back against the seat before pulling the seatbelt across him. He then tugged off a glove and moved the collar of Near’s coat aside. He pressed two fingers against his neck -- checking his pulse to ensure that he hadn’t been given more of the drug than he’d instructed. The younger man clumsily tried to move his hands to fight off Mello’s touch, like he’d forgotten that they were cuffed, as Mello silently counted his heartbeats while staring down at his watch. When he was sure that Near was experiencing the typical effects of the dosage, he shut the door and locked the car before sprinting back to the Mercedes.

He had to keep moving. If he was being watched -- it would be a matter of time before he was closed in on. The bomb he’d placed in the trunk of the Mercedes just needed to be activated. He opened the trunk and entered the necessary codes. Once the countdown began he double-checked that Near’s ID and cellphone were both still inside the car. The cellphone would be tracked to this location in no time -- making it all the more critical to leave. If pieces of his wallet were able to be recovered in the wreckage -- that’d be an added bonus.

He stood in the snow -- looking from the silent road to the snowcapped trees for any final sign of being watched. Once he was satisfied that they wouldn’t be followed he ran back to the Mustang. Near’s head was hanging over the seatbelt, the snow that had gathered in his hair on the walk to the car was now dripping onto his pants. It was strange to see the younger man in a wardrobe so different from the monotone whites he wore in his youth. And now that Mello was close he could see the way that the black suit and coat made his pale skin and red lips all the more pronounced.

Mello glanced down at his watch -- they had exactly sixty seconds to put as much distance between them and the explosion as possible. He pressed the pedal to the floor and the rev of the engine caused Near to pick his head up. The explosion thundered through the dark and Mello could see the orange flames illuminating the snow through the rearview mirror. Near had twisted in his seat, staring at the fire like he couldn’t grasp what was happening.

“Just close your eyes -- it’s okay,” Mello said, his eyes not leaving the road. He had to focus on putting as much distance between them and the wreckage as soon as possible. “You’ll be safe. I **promise**.”

Something about the lull of the car ride and Mello’s words finally sent Near into unconsciousness. Mello planned to drive through the night -- until they reached the safe house. He reached for the half-eaten packet of M&M’s in his pocket, listening to the steady rhythm of the windshield wipers as they made their way through the snowstorm. The fact that he hadn’t gotten a call on his cellphone was a good sign that he’d gotten away with it -- at least for now. But he wasn’t going to let down his guard. Every new set of headlights was a potential threat. He had his gun in his pocket and was fully prepared to take down anyone who stood in his way.

On the seat next to him Near shifted in his sleep, causing the handcuffs to clink together. “It’s okay, you’re safe.” Mello repeated softly without thinking. He couldn’t shake the feeling of guilt for causing the terror that had filled Near’s eyes when he’d drawn his gun. He wished it hadn’t come to that -- that Near had blacked out sooner.

“Mello?” Near mumbled -- the word was thick with sleep. Mello glanced down -- but Near’s eyes were still shut, his head was hanging forward against the strain of the seat belt. Mello reached a hand out unconsciously -- wanting to comfort him -- but realized what he was doing and his hand froze in the space between them. He placed it back on the steering wheel before reaching for a handful of candy. He shoved the chocolate pieces between his lips trying to think of _anything_ but the pain in his chest, the quiet ache that he hadn’t acknowledged in years.

As he accelerated through the long stretches of roads he couldn’t help but wonder how Near would react when he realized Mello was still alive. When he realized what he’d done. Not that it mattered -- he wasn’t doing this because he thought it’d change anything between them. Nothing ever would.

 


	3. Chapter 3

_You just wanted to prove there was one safe place,_  
_just one_  
_safe place where you could love him. You have not found that_  
_place yet._  
-Crush, Richard Siken

 

**x.**

Mello pushed his shoulders against the back of the sofa to stretch his muscles. He’d spent the night hunched over the steering wheel trying to outrun the snowstorm that had finally overtaken them. The black Mustang they’d driven here was parked in the two feet of snow that had already fallen around the small cabin. And while his body betrayed the aches and tiredness of the last twenty-four hours his mind was alert. At any rate, it was good to be out of the itchy woolen chauffeur's uniform. And the striped sweater and black jeans he’d changed into were warm enough to fight the draft coming in from the window next to him.

Near was sprawled out on the bed in the next room, a quilt thrown over him. Mello had removed the handcuffs at the first gas station so he could rest more comfortably. It also made it more convenient to check for any possible trackers in the pockets of his coat. Near had been in and out of consciousness towards the end of the trip allowing Mello to help him take small sips of a water bottle. He seemed to be experiencing the typical effects of the drug, but if he didn’t fully regain consciousness on his own within an hour, Mello planned to go in and wake him.

In the meantime, he could continue to monitor communications between intelligence agencies. A laptop rested on the top of his knees as he tried for the third time to tap into the CIA’s email server. If he could just make sense of why Near had been targeted it might make things easier when he woke up. The sooner they could agree to keep moving the better. The safe house they were in could only sustain them for so long, especially now with the snow. It was a one bedroom cabin with a small kitchenette probably intended to be used as a family’s weekend vacation home. They were only several hours outside of DC but anywhere in the United States was within direct reach of anyone in the intelligence community — if they found a reason to come after them. As of now, he was somewhat assured that there was no reason to believe they would.

With all of his attention focused on planning Near’s pseudo assassination and escape, he hadn’t stopped to think what it’d be like to be in such close quarters with his old rival. He supposed that there were just some things in life you couldn’t outrun. And seeing Near again made him realize that his feelings were one of them. What would he say if Near asked him why — why he’d gone to so much trouble. Mello tilted his head back, pressing two fingers against his closed eyelids. There was always a dull ache in him that missed Matt’s company but moments like now, he missed his friend’s ability to understand him even when he didn’t fully understand himself.

 

* * *

 

_Mello had just finished off his last can of Coke. It’d been a chaser to the shot of vodka he’d taken from the mini-bar. But it hadn’t done any good, only made the motel room feel too warm. He glanced down at the photo of his younger self that he’d reclaimed from Near hours ago. He thought the alcohol might have made it easier to rip up. He wanted to believe that he hadn’t already destroyed it because it was a picture of his younger self — not for any other reason. Not because Near had taken it to keep him safe. Not because Near had held onto it all these years. He sighed and reached for the coins on his nightstand. Another drink was in order but first he needed another soda from the vending machine down the hall._

_The dingy motel room he’d been staying in the last couple days was barely big enough to fit the bed and dresser. Black clothes were strewn over the faded comforter and electronic surveillance equipment was sitting in empty dresser drawers. Now that it was night, the only lamp in the room made the furniture and curtains cast long shadows on the walls._

_When he pulled back the door he tensed and took a step back. His chest tightened with a sort of twisted excitement. Near was standing in the doorway, shifting his weight from one foot to another, as his stare remained fixed on the golden number nailed in the motel door. Mello quickly glanced down the hallway looking for armed SPK members, but it was empty and something about the discomfort of Near’s demeanor assured Mello that he was alone. It was impossible to know how long he’d been standing outside, or if he’d ever planned to knock at all._

_Earlier today Near wouldn’t even turn around to look at him when he’d stormed into SPK headquarters. They hadn’t seen one another in four years and he wouldn’t turn around. But here he was now looking unsure and small but completely unfazed by Mello’s sudden presence._

_“Get inside.” Mello moved aside so Near could slide past him. He glanced both ways down the hallway one final time before shutting the door and sliding the chain lock into place._

_“Put your hands out at your sides,” Mello said. He wasn’t looking for a gun necessarily. He doubted Near had ever learned how to fire one._

_“I’m not bugged,” Near said while raising his arms. The pose pulled the white fabric away from his arms accentuating how his shirt had to be at least three sizes too big. Mello patted him down but didn’t find anything — not a wallet or a cellphone or keys. It’s not like he’d need them with the way he allowed himself to be coddled by his team of handlers._

_“So you’re not bugged. Then what do you want?”_

_Near lowered his arms and kept standing with his back to the door, but his eyes traveled the perimeter of the tiny room. He glanced down at the photo that Mello had taken earlier while tugging the sleeves of his shirt back over his fingers._

_“I had a question about the rules,” he said in his typical clipped fashion, “how can you prove they’re forgeries.”_

_Mello crossed his arms over his chest and narrowed his eyes. “Don’t fuck with me —  you didn’t come here to ask for my guidance on the case.”_

_Near pressed a finger to his lips like they were in the middle of a completely different conversation. “Shinigami. Fake rules….” He was scanning the different stains on the motel carpet.  “Do you ever wonder how L must have felt when he realized that no amount of deduction — no amount of logic could solve this case?”_

_Mello didn’t like the note of resignation in his tone. Or the way that his shoulders hadn’t come unclenched since he’d walked in._

_“L never felt defeated. He kept fighting until the end,” Mello said with more certainty than he felt. He twisted his finger around a rosary hanging from his neck until the tip of his finger turned white. No matter how he turned this over in his mind, he couldn’t understand what Near wanted — why he’d come here._

_Near either didn’t agree with the response or he just didn’t care. He had the same calculating look on his face that Mello had seen many times before across classrooms._

_“Why didn’t you shoot me?” The words held the same clinical detachment that Mello had come to expect. They both unconsciously glanced in the direction of the loaded gun on the dresser._

_“You know why,” Mello said angrily, thinking back to earlier today._

_“Kira’s victims suffer an average of ten seconds while their hearts fight to keep working.”_

_“And?”_

_“A gunshot,” he continued, his voice strained but clear, “a gunshot is instant.”_

_Mello’s eyes widened. Near was asking — asking to be shot, asking to be killed. The other teen only raised an eyebrow, as if in confirmation that he wasn’t mistaken. Whether this was some sort of sick test was debatable. But once again he was some sort of means to an end for Near. Not a person, just a loaded gun._

_"Get out,” Mello yelled, pushing off from the wall and pointing wildly at the door. “Get out now!”_

_“Mello—”_

_Mello crossed the space between them, bunching Near’s shirt in his fist. “I didn’t kill you out of anger —  I’m certainly not going to do it out of pity.” He shoved the shorter teen against the wall._

_Near sucked in a breath but seemed unfazed otherwise as he met Mello’s eyes. “It’s a puzzle that can’t be solved.”_

_Mello looked down at his old schoolmate; at the bags under his eyes, the tight line of his lips, the paleness of his skin —  and swung his hand back and smacked him across the face._

_Near gasped and tried to break away but Mello only clung harder to the fabric bunched in his fist. “Damnit Near! Are you that afraid?”_

_A crimson handprint was already visible on Near’s cheek as he stared up at Mello, his eyes flashing with pain and indignation._

_“Every time I feel nauseous. Every time I’m short of breath. Every pain. Every ache. I wonder…has a shinigami I can’t see written my name in a book I can’t understand? L couldn’t stop it — it was the ignorance and pride of youth that made me think I could.”_

_Mello let go of the shirt and watched silently as Near slouched down against the wall, his hand pressed to his cheek. No matter what Mello told himself or said to Matt about Near’s shortcomings, there was no denying that he was the only chance that the world had at stopping Kira. And here he was; crumpled on the stained motel floor like he’d already lost._

_But something still didn’t feel right. Did he really expect Mello to kill him? Had he ever? Everything Near was saying was playing at a truth —  circling a feeling that Mello had to decipher. Maybe even Near didn’t know exactly why he’d come either, but staring down at him now there was only one thing Mello could think to do._

_He kicked the wall next to Near’s head with his boot. “Get up!” he said through clenched teeth. Near just stared up at him with an obstinate expression, white hair falling over his crimson cheek. Mello reached down and grabbed his arms, hauling him to his feet, keeping his hand clamped around his shoulder. They were so close that Mello was sure Near could smell the vodka and coke on his breath._

_“Look at me!” He said gruffly. Near’s gray eyes bore into his. He had the urge to touch the imprint he’d created on the other teen’s cheek, caress the angry red mark until it faded, but instead he just pressed his fingers harder into his shoulder and narrowed his eyes. “We’re in this together — whatever this is — we both know that we can’t do this alone. We won’t give in and we won’t lose.”_

_It was as close as he could come to telling Near that he believed in him. But the message had come across loud and clear. Near looked up at him with a mixture of surprise and relief, their eyes locked in an understanding that made Mello’s chest tighten with a sort of hope that he’d suppressed. He wondered when his opinion had become so important to Near. He wanted to reach out and close the short distance between them, wrap his arms around the younger teen and make promises that he knew he couldn’t keep. He wanted to swear that he wouldn’t let Kira kill him — he’d die first — he’d die for him if it came to that._

_Someone was knocking on the door and Mello immediately let go of Near and took a step back, feeling almost guilty. The fact that he’d ordered pizza earlier suddenly occurred to him. It felt like hours had passed since he’d found Near outside the door but really it couldn’t have been long at all. He fished his wallet out of his pocket on the way to the door._

_“Sit down,” Mello said to Near, leaving no room for an argument, after paying the delivery man. He motioned to the bed with the hand that wasn’t holding the pizza box. “You’re helping me eat this.”_

_Near sat on the edge of the bed and Mello turned on the TV. It was the tail-end of an episode of Jeopardy neither one of them seemed interested in watching. He handed the other teen a slice of pizza on a napkin._

_“What do they feed you at SPK anyway?”_

_“There’s dining services in the building,” Near took a bite of the crust, “kind of reminiscent of the cafeteria food at Wammy’s though…”_

_“So that’s why you still look like a scrawny kid?”_

_Near glanced over at him, with a look that thoroughly communicated that Mello needed to take a look in the mirror._

_“Did you know that the entire first floor of this motel is rented out as a brothel Thursday through Sunday?” Near said, in an transparent attempt to derail a conversation about his appearance. “Your next door neighbor has been dealing heroin to members of a top talent agency.” He took another bite of pizza, chewing thoughtfully as he stared at the peeling wallpaper. “This room specifically was the scene of a double homicide two years ago.”_

_“You’re making the last one up.” Mello pulled a string of cheese to his lips._

_Near raised an eyebrow, “I might be,” he said with a faint smile._

_Mello was about to make a comment on Near’s inability to maintain a poker face when a key started turning in the lock. Mello jumped up, the napkin that had been on his knee drifted to the floor. Matt stood in the doorway, a black messenger bag slumped over his shoulder. His keys hung loosely in his fingers as he paused to take in the scene before him._

_“Hey Near,” he said, glancing back between Mello and the younger teen a smile creeping up his lips. Mello crossed the room and grabbed a lighter from off the dresser._

_“Hello Matt,” Near said, wiping his lips on the back of a napkin._

_“Come on,” Mello held up the lighter as he passed the redhead, “I need some air.”_

_“Maybe I wanted some pizza,” Matt glanced back at Near with a grin before allowing himself to be half-shoved back out the door._

_Mello was thankful for the rush of frozen air on his cheeks as he walked towards the railing. Matt snatched the lighter from him and lit the cigarette he’d just stuffed between his lips._

_“When you said you were going to get your picture back — I didn’t realize you were going to bribe the kid with a pizza party.”_

_“Just shut up!” Mello said, pressing his hands down on the railing. “I knew you would say something like that.”_

_Matt took a drag of his cigarette, watching Mello out of the corner of his eye. Down below Mello noticed heavily made-up women giggle as they walked to one of the rooms together. How hadn’t he noticed that before? How long had Near been tracking his moves — learning so much about the places he stayed at — and for what purpose?_

_“Do you ever wonder,” Matt sucked on his cigarette, “what life would have been like if we hadn’t all been shoved into this fucked up race to claw our way to the top of the class? If we had been normal kids? If you were Michael and he was Nate?”_

_“No,” Mello said quickly. But his heart was pounding as he looked down at the hoods of cars in the parking lot below. He both wanted to hear every word Matt had to say on the topic and wanted him to stop talking about this forever._

_“Maybe you should,” Matt said._

_“Near just...he had questions about the investigation…”_

_Matt clapped him on the shoulder, a knowing look in his eye and a sad smile on his lips. “It’s okay you know. It’s okay to admit how you feel — to me, to yourself — maybe one day to him.”_

_Mello watched the ash fall from Matt’s cigarette onto the concrete slabs under their feet. He couldn’t have responded even if he would have known what to say. His head felt like it was full of smoke, snaking its way down his throat and choking his words._

_“I have places I can be tonight,” Matt said simply, “I’ll catch up with you later.”_

_Before Mello could stop him, he turned and walked back down the hall and towards the steps that led to the parking lot._

_Mello slammed his fist down against the iron railing before turning to look at the closed door of the hotel room. How much longer could Near really stay without SPK putting the entire NYPD on alert? How much longer did he want him to stay? He didn’t want to think about the answer to the latter. He walked down the hall to the vending machines and got two bottles of soda and a couple of snacks. It wasn’t necessarily an effective way to procrastinate going back inside, but at least it gave him something to say. Something mundane and easy._

_But when he opened the door back up, he didn’t have to say anything. Near was asleep with his head resting against the black feathered coat Mello had been wearing earlier. The portrait of Mello was laying in his loose grip on the comforter next to him. His hair was covering most of his face, his nose pressed into the black fabric, eyes shut. Mello thought about what Matt said. In another lifetime, maybe this would have felt normal. Because even now, something about it felt right. Mello sighed, pushing his bangs out of his eyes._

_The box of pizza was still open on the bed and the TV had switched over to local news now, letting them know to expect rain tomorrow. Mello set most of the snacks down on the dresser, but carried a soda and chocolate bar with him as he walked to the far side of the bed away from Near. He perched on the edge, his back against the mirror, as he bit into the candy. He stared at the TV listening to the inane banter of the news anchors, the corny commercials for things he’d never need to buy like cabinets and mattresses and vacation packages._

_He stayed awake through the night, watching Near burrow further into the fabric of the coat with a soft sigh now and then. The tight ache in his chest didn’t lift until early the next morning when Near sat up. He didn’t seem disoriented or self-conscious. He didn’t even really look at Mello as he stretched and walked towards the door. He just offered a curt, “thank you” before disappearing into the rainy morning._

 

* * *

 

Mello stood in the doorway of the bedroom, only slightly unnerved when he noticed that Near was already awake. He sat up and watched Mello with a sort of weary curiosity.

“Only the dead have seen the end of war,” Near said, pushing his hair away from his eyes. “What have you seen the end of Mello?”

“Quoting Plato?” Mello leaned against the doorway. “And here I thought the effects of Diazepam would linger.”

“It’s strange, all this time I didn’t believe you were dead.” Near stretched his legs over the edge of the bed. “Which is why, I suppose, I wasn’t shocked when I discovered days ago that you weren’t.”

Mello raised an eyebrow as Near pulled a sealed plastic bag from beneath his shirt and laid it flat on the bed. He stared down at the long blonde hair inside. “Three days ago I found this on my bathroom sink. I confirmed in the forensics lab what I already knew; someone extremely vain used my mirror,” Near said with a wry smile.

The feeling of being one step behind Near closed in on him at once. He crossed his arms over his chest, wondering how he’d missed the moment on video surveillance when Near had found and concealed the hair. Wondered with a twinge of regret if he missed a reaction, a small expression of surprise when he realized what he’d discovered.

Near glanced down at the deep creases in his shirt and straightened the knot of his tie. “But let’s get to the point. You’ve bugged my electronics, and followed my movements for days. If you wanted to kill me, I’d be dead. There was no reason you couldn’t have kidnapped me this morning. So what is this — a botched hit?”

“Interesting that you worked all that out but didn’t seem too concerned about getting in a chauffeured car with a stranger. I guess that’s the difference between book smart and street smart,” Mello interjected.

Near’s gaze dropped to the floor before he shrugged. “I’d been drugged,” he said curtly. He was staring at the black duffle bag on the floor. Mello had returned to his apartment one final time to remove all surveillance equipment and pack some of Near’s belongings. Not enough that anyone would notice anything was missing. But enough to get by.

“Hm,” Mello said, letting it drop, but making a mental note. Right now what was important was helping Near understand what was going on so he wouldn’t view him as a threat. Right now, he just wanted to preempt any hostility so they could work together.

“To answer your question — no, this wasn’t a botched hit — not exactly. But I’ve put together information for you to review. I think it’ll be easier for you to examine on your own than have me explain things.” He turned from the doorway and walked to the kitchen table, clicking open a folder on his laptop. Near followed, stretching his arms in front of him, pausing to inspect the faint red imprints the handcuffs had made on his wrists.

“Take a look,” Mello said, motioning to his laptop.

Near slid into the chair and skimmed the information that Mello had brought up. The call logs with his client from the first contact to the last were listed in order by date, a confirmation of the money deposited into his bank account, and stills from the security camera in the parking lot outside the office building at the time that Near would have been drugged. As he clicked through the information, Mello placed a glass of tap water on the table.

Near continued skimming the information, only glancing up at Mello once as he twisted a lock of hair between his fingers. “This may be true….or it may be a clever fabrication.”

“Based on what evidence? The only thing fabricated in this has been your death. _You’re welcome_ , by the way.”

“So you had a conflict of morality once you realized you happened to know the person you’d been hired to kill? Very commendable Mello.”

“Near—”

Near looked out the window – as if trying to see past the trees. “I will return to DC immediately and use the full resources of my team to identify the culprit and bring them to justice — if a culprit exists.”

Mello shook his head, staring down at the younger man.

“Has solving the Kira case inflated your ego to the point that you’ll put your life in jeopardy? We’re talking about assassination Near. Someone wants you dead, thinks you are, and are going to be pretty fucking pissed to find out you aren’t.”

“I’m not interested in playing dead — I’ll discern who the perpetrator is and hold them accountable. That’s what I do.”

“Maybe I was wrong — maybe the drugs are affecting your judgement,” Mello scoffed.

“I didn’t ask you for any of this,” Near said quietly, a thumb pressed to his lip. Like so many times before, he was facing away from Mello, hunched forward, as if Mello’s presence was inconsequential to the conversation.

“No but someone asked me to kill you!” Mello yelled, walking in front of Near so he was forced to pay attention to him, “if it wasn’t me, it’d be someone else — someone who wouldn’t have hesitated to finish the job.”

Near looked up at him with a look that communicated he was unimpressed with the outburst. “I’m not going to run from this. I’m not a criminal. It’s not what L—”

“Here’s a reality that seems to have escaped you — _you aren’t L_ no matter what the pandering sycophants who work under you say.”

Near stared straight at him, unblinking. “You never change,” he said, “you’re reckless. You’re near-sighted. You put your own life in danger. And allow those who associate with you to be killed. But none of it matters to you because you’re a self-interested nihilist.”

Mello’s jaw clenched shut, trying hard not to think about Matt, trying hard not to let Near see that he’d gotten to him. “If that’s what you think of me,” he fished his keys from his pocket and in one swift motion threw them onto the kitchen floor at Near’s feet. “If you’re so damn smart, figure out how to drive yourself back to DC.” 

Near stared down at them, a red blush creeping its way up his neck. They both knew he couldn’t drive. Not only was it an empty gesture, it was derisive and cruel — but wasn’t that just the sort of thing that Near expected out of him? Mello turned on his heel, crossing the cabin to go to the front porch for some air.

He blinked back tears that he wouldn’t let fall as he stared into the frozen landscape. He never would have expected anyone to open fire on Matt – he was a diversion not some kind of goddamned sacrifice. He stuffed his hands into his pockets, as he stared up at the ice sickles hanging like knives around the roof of the porch. He didn’t know what he’d expected out of Near but that hadn’t been it.

By the time he came back inside, Near had gone into the bedroom and shut the door. But the glass of water on the table was empty. Mello put it in the sink before sitting at the table. He sighed and checked his cellphone and email for any communication but there was nothing of any significance. If only he could work out the identity of his client he could convince Near that his motives were altruistic, that he’d saved his life.

But he felt exhausted and drained, and the heaviness of disappointment weighed his shoulders down. He crossed his arms on the table and rested his cheek against them. He didn’t regret what he’d done. He couldn’t. With his eyes closed he thought of Near holding onto his photo — keeping him safe. He remembered the night when Near had slept so peacefully on his coat.  And just yesterday when he had mumbled his name in the car through sleep. All of the memories lifted some of the heaviness from his heart.

When he woke up the fuzziness of his mind couldn’t quite identify the noise he was hearing. His eyelids fluttered open with every slow rumble. Somewhere in the distance there was thunder. Or someone clearing their throat. Or maybe a loud door in need of oil. When he opened his eyes he could see the clock on the stove read 2AM and the cabin was dark except for the small lamp in the living room.

He sat up and scrubbed a hand over his face before glancing down at the empty spot where he’d thrown his keys earlier.  The revving started again and suddenly everything clicked. He stood up too fast, his knee cracking against the tabletop. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he mumbled, grabbing his coat from the back of the sofa on the way out the front door. The headlights from the car were flooding the cabin, he had to shield his face with his hand as he walked onto the porch.

The engine sputtered again, and the tires spun, causing snow to fly behind the car. Even if Near knew how to drive — or how to drive a stick — there’s no way the car would go anywhere without shoveling the back tires out. Not to mention the windshield was still covered in a sheet of frost and ice. If Near actually got the car to go anywhere, the chances are it’d be into a tree.

As Mello walked closer, he could see Near pulling on the gear stick with a sort of desperate persistence. “You’re going to flood the engine with gas,” he yelled, smacking his knuckles against the driver’s side window. Near continued to look from the gear shift to the clutch like he could will himself to understand. Mello tried to pull open the door but it was locked. Near slammed his foot against the pedal, causing the engine to rev again.

Mello slammed on the window with his fist. “Damnit! You’re going to destroy our only way to leave!” He could see his breath creating white clouds in the air in front of him as he dug in his wallet for his spare key.

Near was still looking down at the clutch when Mello unlocked the door and reached across him to pull the key out of the ignition.

“How fucking stupid can you be?” He yelled, stuffing his keys back in his pocket.

Near stood up and shoved past him, “I don’t know!” He looked back at the car with a shaky look of exasperation on his face, tears welling in his eyes as he brought a hand over his mouth. “I don’t know how to drive, I don’t know who wants me dead…or why, I don’t know why you’re doing any of this!”

“God knows why at this point," Mello said, throwing his hands up. He could feel snowflakes melting into his hair, the water worming down his temple like a cold sweat.

Near nodded, and leaned back against the tree behind him like all the energy had left him. “I’m sorry — I’m sorry for what I said — about you, about Matt. I know how much he meant to you.” He took a breath and looked into the dark woods that surrounded them with wide unseeing eyes. “Suddenly everything I do feels wrong.”

“It’s…it’s okay…” Mello sighed — he wished he had the right words — but all he had were the most basic and true ones. “You know, I care about you...right?”

Near shrugged. “You packed that book. The one L got me.”

“Yeah,” Mello said, thinking of the Sherlock Holmes novel he’d taken from the bookshelf in Near’s room while he’d packed up some of his clothes. He took a step closer —   “I knew you wouldn't want to have to leave that behind.”

“Thank you,” he mumbled, looking down at his feet, sunken into the snow.

“Come on,” Mello reached a gloved hand out, “come back inside with me, okay?”

Near glanced up at Mello's outstretched hand like it was a piece of evidence, something to be counted and analyzed. But he reluctantly reached out and grabbed it, letting Mello help him step out of the snow drift before letting go again.

They walked back towards the cabin, guided by the small porch light, the snow crunching under their feet. Mello pulled the front door back, closing and locking it behind him, before shutting off the porch light. He had to remember that they weren’t exactly safe, even if they were in the middle of nowhere.

Near pulled his wet coat off and hung it over the back of a chair. He watched Mello close the blinds with a sort of admiration. “I’m glad you’re alive,” he said, his words were quiet but unmistakable.

Mello couldn't explain why the words felt so good to hear. He glanced up -- Near's dark eyes were red-rimmed but soft and sincere.  He looked away self-consciously, like maybe he shouldn’t have said that out loud, but Mello let out a breath, “I’m glad you’re alive too, Near.”

* * *

 

Thanks to [Jojo](http://mistaken-for-magick.tumblr.com/) for this amazing artwork!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More to come!


	4. Chapter 4

_I thought I lost it all the day that I lost you._  
_It’s taken me until just now to find the truth_  
_You’ve always been here haven’t you?_  
Haven’t You?, Matt Skiba

 **x.**  

Mello slammed his laptop closed. “Damnit! I thought I had it that time!” He pushed his chair back from the kitchen table. He’d been trying to hack into the FBI email servers for hours, but it had been an exercise in futility.

“These files we retrieved earlier are useless as well,” Near said, motioning to the laptop in front of him. The younger detective was sitting on the living room floor, hunched forward over a laptop — a sight Mello had grown familiar with. After coming back inside the night Near had tried to start the car, Mello had promised that he’d take him back to DC once they determined who was behind the assassination attempt and agreed on how to best incapacitate them. They’d been working around the clock investigating leads. While they’d collectively been able to pinpoint several possible suspects, a motive was seemingly non-existent.

Near had sprawled printed-out copies of email exchanges and case files across the floor, sitting in the center of them with the laptop, taking in all the information at once. Mello didn’t ask if that was actually an effective way to do anything. Still, he couldn’t suppress an occasional eye roll when Near stared unblinking into space like the universe would whisper answers to him if he just listened hard enough.

Mello spent most of his time with a pair of headphones pulled snugly over his ears, listening in on conversations between agents working outside the law, trying to pick up chatter relating to the case. But aside from the occasional rumor that _someone_ important had been killed, there was nothing useful.

“If it wasn’t for this damn snow I’d go surveil everyone on this suspect list and I wouldn’t need to worry about goddamn _counter-intrusion_ measures,” Mello said. It wasn’t his style to sit around staring at computer screens, waiting for the puzzles to miraculously click together in his mind. He knew they never would. But it wasn’t just the snow keeping him from leaving. The reality was that it would be too dangerous to take Near with him and even more so to leave him here alone.

“You _should_ go,” Near said, meeting his eye. It was clear from his gaze that he knew he was the reason why Mello wouldn’t leave. “I can continue to remotely surveil the feeds you establish.”  

“Yeah, maybe.” Mello stood up and swung open a cupboard door to divert the topic. The truth was that he didn’t give a damn _who_ was behind the plot on Near’s life. For all he cared, it was some jealous colleague with too much time on their hands. He could understand better than anyone how easily Near could breed feelings of contempt. The bigger question was why should Near _want_ to go back? What kind of life was he in such a hurry to get back to? Being kept in shiny office buildings like a caged bird, wheeled out when cases went over the heads of every other person with an Ivy League degree and six figure salary.

Mello turned a can of tomato soup over in his hand to check the expiration date. He kept all his safe-houses stocked with nonperishable items but he hadn’t restocked since his last stint here. Even though it was a year from expiration, he put it back and reached for a bag of stale mini chocolate bars. He sat on the counter-top, shoving a piece of candy between his lips.

Near was twisting a piece of hair between his fingers, staring at the spot that Mello had just been standing like there were numbers in the air he was adding together.

“I should contact Roger,” he said, “he’ll be able to set me up with proper safeguards and resources to see this through.”

“Too dangerous right now,” Mello mumbled, his teeth ripping open the wrapper of the candy bar, “want one?” There was no question that Roger’s every breath was being monitored. That someone was just waiting for Near to make the mistake of contacting him.

Near shook his head, eyeing the candy with a sort of tempered annoyance. But he seemed to accept Mello’s opinion on reaching out to Roger, as if he already knew that’s what he would say. “Do you have those emails from earlier? I want to read through them—”

“It’s midnight.” Mello was staring at the clock on the stove.

“So?”

“It’s officially Christmas,” he said, his mouth full of chocolate. He wasn’t entirely surprised that the significance of the date had been lost on them all day as they’d been working. But the idea of continuing to work through the morning now felt less like a chore and more depressing.

He twisted around to open the cupboard behind him, fishing out a bottle of whiskey. “We should celebrate.”

Near shot him a skeptical look. “I don’t drink.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Mello decided it was best not to bring up the night he’d walked in on Near drinking after L’s death. “But what if I told you I had a bottle of wine stashed here worth upwards of $6,800?”

“I’d say the chances are good that you could be brought up on federal smuggling charges.”

Mello raised an eyebrow and poured a glass from the dark bottle. He didn’t have wine glasses, but a plastic cup did the job. He took a small sip before placing it on the floor next to Near’s laptop. Near glanced over at it, a small frown on his lips at the unwelcome distraction.

“Don’t worry,” Mello said, “I won’t report you to the authorities.”

He mixed his own whiskey and coke before sitting on the sofa, putting his feet on the coffee table.  “We could see what shitty Christmas movie is on?” He glanced down at the back of Near’s head, his white hair curling at the ends where it hit the collar of his shirt.

Near grabbed a stack of email print-outs as if to demonstrate that he planned to keep working. Mello sighed and took a slow sip of his whiskey as he flipped back and forth between _Home Alone_ and _the Grinch_. He was at least encouraged that Near was gradually sipping the wine while making small notes in the margins of the documents.

It was somewhat fascinating to see how hard Near was working on the case. Mello always had the distinct impression that he played with action figures and puzzle pieces until a sudden stroke of genius came over him. But watching him work tirelessly, turning information over with such care and precision made him feel better somehow, less short-changed.

“There’s more in the bottle.” Mello motioned lazily towards the kitchen table when Near swallowed the last of his wine.

He nodded and loosened the top button of his shirt as he stood up. “It finally feels above freezing in here.”

“See, it’s a Christmas miracle,” Mello said, noting that the warmth of the alcohol had given Near’s cheeks a rosy pink tinge as well.

He tried not to let his surprise show when Near returned with a full cup and sat on the opposite end of the sofa with him leaving one empty cushion between them, like they were saving room for someone else. They sat in silence, Mello half afraid to move — like he’d break the trance Near was in and he’d realize he wasn’t working and crawl back in front of the laptop. They took sips of their drinks in a sort of comfortable silence as the December wind moved through the trees outside and mindless commercials played on the TV.

“Sorry that this had to be your Christmas,” Mello said finally, turning his head. Near had his feet underneath of him as he leaned on the arm of the sofa.

“Are you?” Near asked — but it wasn’t exactly a question he expected Mello to answer.

Mello shrugged and took another sip of his drink. The answer was _no_ , of course. But how could he admit that? How could he tell Near how natural it felt being together these past couple days?

“Where were you this time last year?” Near asked, taking a sip of his wine before staring up at the uneven wooden panels in the ceiling with a sort of despondent expression on his face. There were moments like now where Mello couldn’t follow Near’s shifts in mood. He turned back to look at him, his eyes dark and unreadable. Mello scrambled to come up with an answer.

“Beirut,” he said. “I’d just finished a job and went out to unwind. It wasn’t long before I met someone at the bar. We had a couple drinks, I guess, and ended up back in my hotel room.” He shrugged, wondering if that’s what Near really wanted to hear. If that’s the kind of honesty he expected. He thought of the nameless man he’d taken back to his room, fumbling down the hallway, pulling clothes off of one another, kissing to keep the need for words to a minimum. He remembered emptying the contents of the hotel mini bar between the two of them and then the mindlessness of what followed. He left in the middle of the night; paid for the room, and boarded a red-eye out of the country.

Near stood up, running his hand along the back of the sofa on the way to the kitchen. He grabbed the wine bottle by the neck and poured the rest into his cup. “And here I thought you’d be handing out presents to needy children,” he said, laughing at his own joke into his cup.

“Ha ha ha,” Mello said sarcastically, “and what about you?”

“About me?” Near repeated on his way back to the sofa. He sat his cup on the table and laid back over the side of the sofa so his feet were hanging over the armrest and his head was on the cushion between them. Pieces of his hair pressed against Mello’s thigh —  the white a stark contrast to the black of his jeans. Near pressed a finger to his lips as if he was thinking of something much more complex than a memory.

“Yeah.” Mello tried not to focus on the sudden closeness or the way Near’s lips were stained red from the wine. “What were you doing this time last Christmas?”

“The same as you; indulging in alcohol and anonymous sex,” Near said nonchalantly. For the second that Mello believed him a wave of jealousy rushed over him. The room felt like it’d turned on its side -- the air stuffy and oppressive as he thought of some stranger pressing their lips to Near’s skin. But Near was glancing up at him with a smirk on his lips.

“Actually, I was working,” he said, pushing his hair off his face. “There was a drug ring we had been following for months out of Atlanta. We were just closing in on several key players in the operation. I was at FBI headquarters overseeing the tactical operation.”

Mello had to physically resist the urge to let out a sigh of relief. “So the narcs don’t even take a break for Christmas? How joyless.” He imagined Near hunched over a laptop, a team of investigators in suits buzzing around him. Everyone wishing they were home with their families. Where would Near have wished he was?

“It really doesn’t matter to me.” Near was watching the reflection of the TV in the window. “It’s just another day, isn’t it.”

“You can say that,” Mello said, running his finger along the material of his jeans, until his finger touched a few strands of Near’s hair. “But you’re talking to the person who remembers a certain antisocial ten-year-old who spent Christmas Eve building a three-story gingerbread house.”

“Then you’ll remember that it was a _present_ for L.” Near glanced up, his eyes fixated on the rosary hanging down Mello’s chest. He reached his hand up and ran his finger over the smooth beads, letting them slide through his fingers.

How many Christmases ago was it that Mello had watched Near across the dining hall of Wammy’s House? The staff had set up a Christmas tree in the center of the room. Each window was decorated with strings of colored lights. Kids were running around, playing with the toys that Watori had left for them under the tree. Mello had been given a set of walkie talkies but he hadn’t been in the mood for playing with them. He was watching with a sneer on his face as Near sat at a table at the end of the room adjusting a gumdrop in a dollop of icing. L stood behind him, ruffling his hair fondly. Mello could still feel the pain of his teeth sinking into his lips when L pointed down to the candy cane walkway approvingly.  

“Well, it’s a perfect example of you being driven by the Christmas spirit,” Mello said, looking down at Near.

“You knocked it off the table as soon as you had the chance,” Near said, letting the rosary go, so it swung back against Mello’s chest. Mello remembered how Near’s face had gone completely red when he turned to discover what had happened. And how L had rushed over, grabbing a candy cane off the floor and stooping down to pull Near in for a hug. How his eyes had flashed towards Mello over Near’s shoulder.

“Is it too late to apologize?”

“Yes,” Near mumbled.  
  
“Where did you and L go that night anyway?” Mello asked. Roger had ushered the students into the auditorium for the terrible rendition of _A Christmas Carol_ that some of the students had been rehearsing for months. But Near and L had been notably absent. He’d mentioned it to Matt who had only shrugged, and continued staring down at his game.

Near stared up at the ceiling, suddenly looking much younger and sadder somehow. “He tried to convince me that he needed help making hot chocolate. I was only nine but I knew he was lying, I knew he was just trying to cheer me up. But I went with him to the kitchen anyway, and he nodded his head as I pulled out all the ingredients, like I was teaching him something. We dipped shards of the gingerbread house into our drinks and—” Near stopped and looked over at Mello.

“And?”

“And he told me that you hadn’t smashed the gingerbread house to be mean. He said that you had only done it because you were sad and didn’t know how to tell us.”

Mello let out a breath, somehow any opinion that L had of him, even then, felt empirically true. “Did you believe that?” he asked.

“Of course, he’s L.”

“I wasn’t a very happy kid,” Mello said, trying not to dwell on the reality that he wasn’t a very happy adult either.

“It’s not like you didn’t have a good reason. We were orphans. And it was Christmas time,” Near said.

“Those things are both still true.” Mello took a sip of his drink. On the screen the cartoon characters had joined hands around a Christmas tree.

“Mello?”

“Mhm?” Mello hadn’t taken his eyes off the TV.

“I think L would be happy to know we’re together on Christmas.”

He glanced down at Near, and while his eyes were shut there was a small smile on this lips.

While he wouldn’t say it, he knew Near was right. That somehow he and Near belonged together, belonged to one another. That L always knew it too. He closed his eyes as the ending credits ran on the TV screen, listening to Near’s even breaths as he drifted off into sleep.

A couple hours later, he woke up to find Near’s head was in his lap, his forehead pressed against his abdomen, and fingers loosely clenching the black material of his sweater. Mello smoothed Near’s hair off his cheek. He slid down, lifting his feet onto the sofa, his legs half on top of Near’s. He pulled the smaller man closer, so he was resting on his chest, his hair softly touching Mello’s chin. He wrapped an arm around him, hoping that he was still warm enough.

As he closed his eyes again he tried to imagine what his life would have been like if every Christmas since he was a kid had been spent with Near. If they’d had a normal life — just like Matt had said. If he’d always been able to hold Near in his arms. For a second he even imagined them trying to out-do one another with presents on Christmas Day. But something about all of it was making him sad for both of them. He could only hold Near tighter, trying to believe that they still could be more than just orphans on Christmas.

In the morning when Mello opened his eyes, Near was on the opposite end of the sofa again, his hair damp from the shower. He’d pulled a cardigan on over a fresh collared shirt. There was something soft and welcoming about the scholarly cleanness to his image that Mello had always been drawn to. It was a departure from his own darker clothing -- but it suited him. Near turned a page in the Sherlock Holmes book, an empty cup of coffee was on the table.

“Damn, what time is it?” Mello squinted at the sunlight pouring through the window. He raked his fingers through his hair, working out a tangle as he pushed himself up.

“Only nine-thirty.” Near glanced at him before returning to the book.

Mello was surprised that he wasn’t already hunched over his computer working on the case. But maybe he had decided that it’d be pointless today — that no one was going to communicate on work email during the holiday.

He stretched his legs out in front of him, his stomach sour from the whiskey. He stood up and walked to the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of water before staring out the window. Last night felt so close to something — something he’d spent years running from. The idea of continuing to be alone together in the cabin having these small moments with Near was maddening. He felt like he was on fire with all the things he could say, all the ways he wanted to close the space between them. Pretending like his only interest in any of this was returning Near safely to DC was the biggest lie he’d ever had to keep going.

“We should get some fresh air,” Mello said, glancing back to Near. “it will help to clear our heads.”

Near looked out the window at the snow covered ground, the wind blowing through the trees of the cloudy landscape a small frown on his lips.

“I have an extra pair of boots you could wear,” Mello said, thinking of the boring loafers that Near had been wearing when they arrived — probably still wet from the other night.

“Okay,” Near agreed, a thoughtful expression on his face.

“Give me five minutes,” Mello said.  

He headed for the bathroom, not feeling in the mood for a shower himself. Instead he scrubbed the stale taste of whiskey from his mouth with his toothbrush before washing his face. After dragging his bangs back over his eyes he grabbed a spare set of boots from the bedroom closet.

“That’s a lot of excessive buckles,” Near said as he tied the laces over his black pants.

“Excessive from a functional point of view _maybe_ ,” Mello said, appreciating the sight of Near in his clothes, even if it was only boots.

Near’s lips quirked into a smile as he grabbed his coat from the back of the kitchen chair.  

“So where are we going?”

“There’s a lake down there.” Mello motioned past the trees that were blocking it from view. The area was a campground in the summer —  making it virtually useless to him six months out of the year. But he could appreciate the trail that cut through the trees, even if it was snow covered. As they walked down the sloping path, Mello was glad for the fresh air, the bright light cleaning the heaviness from his thoughts.

“Do you come here often?” Near asked.

“Not recently. I’ve mostly been in Eastern Europe this past year.” Mello said. “But Matt and I came here a lot during the early years of the Kira investigation.” He stared out over the frozen lake that had come into view. “I have so many safe-houses like this one...they all start to look the same. But they’re more convenient than a hotel. Much easier to play dead when I need to.”

They both stopped at a wooden picnic table, and Mello kicked the snow off the top so they could sit down. Icicles hung around the edges of a charcoal grill next to them. Near used the top of his boot to knock them off, watching them pierce through the untouched snow beneath.

“I didn’t know how to ask earlier. About how you survived.” Near glanced over at him, “how you got away.”

Mello let out a breath, glancing up at the heavy gray clouds drifting over the hills surrounding them. They was so low, it looked like the tops of the pine trees at the peaks of the hills might burst them open. He turned back to Near who was patiently waiting for some big revelation. But the answer had to be exactly what he’d already worked out on his own.

“I had broken into the reporter’s house the night before and replaced her scraps of the Death Note. Then it was just a matter of escaping before anyone realized that my body wasn’t in the burning rubble.” He took a breath, “I thought I was pretty goddamn brilliant until I found out about Matt. They must have replayed the clip of him being shot a hundred times in the span of twenty-four hours on the news.”

Near nodded, their breaths were silent clouds in the air.

“Why didn’t you tell me that you were still alive?” he asked. Mello could tell that was the question he was actually interested in hearing the answer to.

“I didn’t think you’d care.” It was a half-truth. It wasn’t that he was sure that Near wouldn’t care — it was protection from the disappointment if he didn’t.

Near looked down. The thick soles of Mello’s boots looked out of place with the rest of his clothes. “I’m sorry —  that I would have ever given you reason to think that.”

“Sorry that I didn’t tell you. I guess part of me was waiting for you to figure it out.”

Near shrugged. “Maybe I would have. I have to admit that for a long time a part of me didn’t believe that L was really dead. I thought that he faked his death out of necessity. That he was waiting in the sidelines for me to capture Kira.”  
  
His eyes were dark and unblinking —  in that way that always reminded Mello of L.

“But then when you and Matt were killed everything felt real. And I wanted to bring Light Yagami to justice more than ever before, because I knew I had to avenge you all. I thought that it was like a game somehow. That once I won, everything he’d taken from me would come back. Like chess. All the pieces weren’t really gone forever. Your opponent had just taken them for now. The board would be reset.”

He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “Of course it didn’t. So the feeling in me that you hadn’t really been killed —  I thought it was some irrational hope —  just like I’d had with L. I didn’t want to entertain it, I had to accept that I was the only one left.”

Mello could feel the rawness of Near’s words in his own chest.

“You shouldn’t have to be alone,” Mello said, reaching a gloved hand over to grab Near’s.

They looked at one another, and the frozen landscape around them folded away. Like the scenery in a play that was no longer required. Near’s dark eyes were all Mello could focus on. He leaned forward, his hand gently gripping Near’s cheek before he pressed their lips together in a soft but purposeful kiss. Near’s eyes widened and he made a noise that wasn’t quite surprise.

Mello pulled back, Near’s face was bright red.

“You’ve probably already worked this out,” Mello said, more nervous than he could remember feeling, his heart pounding loudly in his ears as he said the words, “I probably don’t have to tell you how I feel…”

He took a breath, wishing he could stop talking, wishing he could _really_ taste Near's lips, push his tongue through them — which was strange because he was never interested in kissing _anyone_ , it always seemed unnecessary, boring even. But nothing about Near had ever been boring to him.

Near was looking into the distance, like all his responsibilities were watching them from the trees, his hair blowing against his cheeks. “You were the first one of us to realize that we don’t belong together,” he said, “and now more than ever we occupy two different worlds.”

“Don’t use your _goddamn job_ to make excuses.” Mello grasped Near’s shoulder, but the younger man seemed determined not to meet his eye.  

“Whether you recognize it or not, I am L now,” Near’s voice broke over the words. “My life is about justice — it’s not about — about...”

The knots of repressed ache that Mello had been storing for the past couple days seemed to come undone at once. “Dammit Near,” he said, looking imploringly at him —  trying to show how much he needed this, how much he knew that Near needed it too, “you either feel something or you don’t!”

Near shook his head, dropping his eyes to the ground. “I —  I should be working on the case.” His voice was calm but different from his usual even tone. It was forced. He stood up, watching his boots sink into the snow again. He took a step back hesitantly, like he wasn’t sure that he was really going to walk away. But after one final glance at Mello he turned and walked purposefully through the woods in the direction of the cabin.

“Fuck,” Mello said under his breath to the space that Near had just occupied. He went to slam his fist down onto the table but stopped himself and took a breath, watching the wind kick up snow on the surface of the lake.  
  
After years of burying what he’d felt, he had his answer. The idea that there’s catharsis in truth was the biggest line of bullshit Mello had ever been told. He didn’t feel like some weight had lifted or the truth had set him free. He just felt stupid and naive. This was the outcome he’d had enough sense at fourteen to foresee and prevent by keeping his mouth shut. A couple days alone with Near was all it had taken to bring it to the surface

There was a part of him that wasn’t even surprised that things had gone this way. A part of him that had always known Near would say that; _that it wouldn’t work, that he couldn’t let himself_. Because he had expected this. Prepared himself for it in some secret way even.

He pulled out the pack of cigarettes he’d found in a drawer in the kitchen. They had been Matt’s — left here by accident years ago and forgotten in time. He placed one between his lips. He didn’t like to smoke but there was something calming knowing they were Matt’s. It was the closest he could come to summoning his ghost; the presence of a friend. It made the rejection and thought of continued loneliness more bearable. Because he hadn’t always been alone.  

When he’d taken the final drag of the cigarette he crushed it into the tabletop, leaving behind a satisfying black smear of ash. But the reality was that he couldn’t stay out here forever. Predictably there was a childish part of him that wanted to hop in the Mustang and put states, countries, and time zones between the two of them. Then he wouldn’t have to face Near, wouldn’t have to see this through. But that impulse was drowned before it had fully formed.

He _had_ to go back to the cabin and give Near some bullshit excuse and continue to help him solve the case. Then he could put him back where he belonged and they could both go on living the best way they knew how. He walked slowly back to the cabin, trying to fit his feet into the footsteps that he and Near had made together on the walk over and not in the uneven imprints that Near had made when he’d left.

When he got to the tree line by the cabin his heart dropped to his stomach — another car was pulled behind his own. He instinctively reached for the gun in the pocket of his coat, clicking off the safety as he ran to the porch. Who could be here now? Would government agents really have tracked them here? Without hesitation he kicked open the front door, sending it flying back, cracking against the wall. But no one was inside and nothing was out of place. He kept his gun pointed straight out in front of him as he walked through each empty room.

“Mello!!” a man’s deep voice called out, echoing through the trees. Mello ran back outside. The heavy footprints leading away from the cabin caught his eye. He ran alongside them and down the curve of trees that led to the back of the lake. He heard his name again and ran faster, his blood pumping in his ears. Why the hell had he let Near walk back alone? How could he have been so careless — so stupid.

He stopped at the top of the rocky cliff that overlooked the lake and took in everything at once. A burly man dressed in a black leather jacket was holding Near by the throat, slammed up against a tree. There was an angry red welt under Near’s eye and blood running out of the corner of his lip. Near was struggling to kick his feet up against the tree — trying to hold himself up. Trying to breathe.

“PUT HIM DOWN!” Mello yelled, surprised at the fury in his voice, his gun pointing directly at the man. The man abruptly let go of Near’s neck, allowing him to fall to his knees, gasping for air in the snow.  

“Mello — it’s not polite to point a gun at a friend,” the man said, clucking his tongue, and Mello’s eyes narrowed. The bigger man was mostly known for doing hits for the mob. He was someone he’d worked on cases in the past with, someone he’d meet up with at bars when work took them to the same areas. Someone he’d let crash here before. They weren’t friends exactly, they simply benefitted from one another’s cooperation and shared resources.

“What the fuck do you want Kimbel?”

“Two weeks ago — you tell me over drinks that you’ve been hired to trail a top US intelligence official. Shortly afterwards you drop off the map. Then I hear talk that the same snot-nosed kid that killed Kira was blown up — assassinated. It wasn’t hard to put two-and-two together.”

Mello’s eyes dropped to Near, who had staggered to his feet. He took a step closer to him, keeping his gun trained on the other man as he moved through the snow.

Kimbel sighed, watching Mello with a sort of bemused expression. “Then I think to myself... isn’t this the same kid you worked with the mafia to fuck over a couple years ago? Now I know you Mello — I _know_ you wouldn’t put a vendetta like that to rest with just an anonymous hit. An explosion even? Not your style. So I came here to ask you how it really went down thinking I was in for one hell of a story. But what did I find?” He glanced over at Near, “He’s L — right? The secret weapon of every alphabet agency. The mastermind behind how many of my buddy’s deaths…I find him traipsing through the snow around your property like he’s on a **_goddamn winter vacation_**!”  

“What the hell does it matter to you?” Mello yelled, finally close enough to grab Near by the sleeve of his coat, pulling the shorter man behind him.

“It matters to me because you’re fucking up your reputation for a cop — this kid is an narc — he’s a fed — he’s _everything_ we are supposed to stand against.”

“It’s my choice!” Mello said, feeling the anger swelling in his chest. The only way his reputation would be ruined is if someone like Kimbel started running their mouth off. Mello knew what he had to do, should do right now to make sure that didn’t happen. But he could feel Near’s gaze on the back of his neck. No matter how strong the impulse was to pull the trigger, he couldn’t bring himself to kill someone in cold blood in front of him.

“The thing is buddy, you have too much shit on me — on all of us — to have the ear of the FBI sharing meals with you.” Kimbel pulled a gun from inside his coat, and pointed it at Near’s head, his brows knitting together. “I’m doing you a favor,” he said gruffly, before pulling the trigger.

Mello threw himself towards Near, shoving him to the ground before he heard the gunshot boom through the frozen air. He felt the shot rip through his shoulder, but even as he staggered back from the impact he fired his own gun. He saw the first shot connect with Kimbel’s thigh, causing him to fall back and the second bullet struck the other man in the chest before he’d hit the ground. He fell backwards, sliding down the snow covered rocks leading to the lake, and crashed through the ice.

Mello glanced over at Near, who was picking himself off the ground. “Stay there!” he ordered, keeping his gun pointed forward as he ran through the snow and slid down the hill after the body.

Kimbel’s body was lying face down in the frozen water, the ice he’d crashed through was floating around him like broken glass. And without pausing to check if he was already dead, Mello put one more bullet in his temple to be sure. He finally lowered his gun, stuffing it back into his pocket before letting out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. He closed his eyes for just a second, shaking away the wave of dizziness that had overcome him. He knew he’d been hit in the shoulder — he just didn’t know how severe the damage was. But he couldn’t be out here in the snow trying to figure it out.

Near was standing on the top of the snowbank, looking down at him —  his eyes wide as the wind whipped his hair against his face.

“We have to get back inside,” Mello shouted as he climbed back up the icy rocks, trying to ignore the stabbing pain in his shoulder. There was no way to be sure that Kimbel had come alone — or that he hadn’t told others what he was doing. The only way that Mello could regain control of the situation was to get back to the cabin.

“Are you okay?” Near asked, searching for evidence of an injury, scanning the black fabric of Mello’s coat. “I thought—”

“Of course I am,” Mello said too quickly. He’d made it up the hill and stood beside Near, glancing through the trees for additional threats. “I’m just out of breath.” His hands were shaking, and he shoved them into his pockets, telling himself that it was just adrenaline. He didn’t want to think about what would have happened if he’d gotten there a minute later. He didn’t want to look at the red fingerprints on Near’s pale skin — didn’t want to meet Near’s eye at all. All he could focus on was trying to keep his breathing under control as they made their way through the trees, to stay focused on what he had to do, to keep moving his feet.

“You’re bleeding.” Near had a note of panic in his voice, looking back at the trail of blood that was following them. Mello could feel the sticky warmth of blood trapped under his sweater, worming its way down his stomach.

“The bullet must have grazed me.” He could see the cabin through the trees but another wave of dizziness came over him.  He reached out and gripped Near’s shoulder for support.

Near didn’t say anything as Mello continued to press more weight down on his shoulder every couple steps. The closer they got to the cabin the more he negotiated with himself about how much further he had to keep walking. First it was just inside the door — then to the porch — but he’d just be happy if they made it to the tree line at this point. The drops of blood landing in the snow were coming quicker now and he knew that he only had a matter of time until the blood loss caused him to blackout entirely.

“Mello—”

“Lock all the doors once we’re inside. Take my gun. Keep it with you. There’s antibiotics in the cabinet under the bathroom sink — gauze...and...” he was mumbling while his vision was tunneling. He realized that they made it onto the porch and had just crossed through the open door. Some part of him decided it was okay to sink to his knees now onto the cabin floor, to rest finally — his hand fumbling with the zipper of his coat.

“Just stop talking,” Near said, his hands working quick to pull off Mello’s coat. He sucked in a sharp gasp of air at the sight of where the bullet had torn through Mello’s shoulder. Mello’s chest was covered in blood, the ends of his blonde hair were sticking against the wound as his head hung forward. Near didn’t investigate further before jumping up and rushing into the kitchen in search of towels.

The floor seemed so welcoming, and Mello laid back down against it, his hair spilling out around his head. He lay there listening to Near’s footsteps moving through the cabin —  the floor creaking under the weight. The world outside had been silenced — the birds scared off by the gunshots, even the wind had died down.

“I’m okay,” Mello whispered to himself, pressing his hand against the piercing pain in his shoulder. He wasn’t aware of when it’d started hurting so bad, or when his breaths had become so shallow. “I’m okay,” he repeated weakly, as Near returned with a dishtowel, prying his hands away from the wound.

All Mello could focus on was the way Near’s breaths were staggered — almost like he was choking again. He groaned as Near pushed away the fabric of his sweater to access the wound. Mello could smell the blood — he could see it on Near’s pale hands as he reached for extra towels on the floor next to them. Near was applying pressure to his shoulder and Mello had the distinct impression that he was sinking into the floor beneath his grip.

“Mello—Mello—open your eyes!” Near’s words were shaky, like the syllables couldn’t escape his lips in the right order and Mello could feel hot tears falling onto his cheeks. Mello didn’t remember closing his eyes but it seemed like a good idea to keep them shut.

 _“I’m sorry,”_ Near kept repeating the words like a prayer — like a confession — like a deal he was making with someone Mello couldn’t see. Mello wanted to tell him that he didn’t need to be sorry, that he didn’t need to be so upset. That everything that had happened today didn’t count because it was still Christmas. And Christmas wasn’t even a real day. He wanted to sit up and assure him that he’d survived worse.

But it took all of his energy to crack open his eyes again. Near looked so scared, so fragile and alone as he choked back sobs. A purple bruise was already forming under his eye, the blood from his split lip had wormed its way down his chin. The added color on Near’s face seemed more out of place, more lurid than the bullet wound in his own shoulder. Everything had happened so fast -- but didn’t it always? Once again he hadn’t been there when someone he loved was getting hurt.

“ _Please_ stay with me —   _please_ don’t leave me alone again,” Near whispered, wrapping an arm behind Mello’s head. His white hair hung over his face making Mello think of the snow beating down on the windshield the night he’d driven them here. He thought of the M&Ms he’d crunched between his teeth as he drove and how the tie Near had been wearing looked so out of place.

The pain in his shoulder was spreading down his arm and he grimaced and felt a wall of blackness closing in on his thoughts. The sensation of Near’s hot tears on his face and the pressure he was applying on the wound faded along with the pain.

And through the cobwebs of unconsciousness overtaking him he was sure he heard Near saying that he needed him, that he wanted him — that he _loved_ him. Mello wanted to repeat the words — whether they were real or imagined, but a soft groan was all that he heard come from his lips. Everything felt far away — like it was happening at the wrong end of a tunnel. But Near was safe and holding him and that’s all he’d really wanted in the end.

* * *

Thanks to [Jojo ](http://mistaken-for-magick.tumblr.com/)for this amazing artwork from this chapter!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Four Note: So this may very well be the longest chapter I've ever written of any fanfic ever. But yeah, it was necessary. I pretty much wrote this while listening to Matt Skiba's, "Haven't You" on an endless loop. I think Mello's middle name *is* probably danger, but if you're trying to get into the mood of the story, I highly recommend it. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you all are still enjoying this story. Please continue to leave kudos and comments, as the support and feedback is much appreciated!! :)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading the first chapter of my first Death Note fic! If you are enjoying this fic so far, please leave a comment! More to come with much drama ahead...
> 
> Also, check out this amazing portrait of intelligence!official!Near http://noteveryoneisdead.tumblr.com/post/145554958662/thanks-to-jojo-for-this-amazing-portrait-of-near
> 
> If you enjoyed this story please consider [buying me a kira cup of coffee!](https://ko-fi.com/A402111U)


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